


Ever After

by SilchasRuin



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Canon Compliant, Epilogue, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Imoen Is The Best Wingwoman, Or At Least An Attempt At Retirement, Post-Canon, Retirement, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 01:25:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18713686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilchasRuin/pseuds/SilchasRuin
Summary: Anomen Delryn was quite happy to follow the former Bhaalspawn Wren as she took up her new role as Ranger-Protector of the Umar Hills. After all, a break from the complete chaos their lives had been would finally give him the chance to court her properly, rather than having to resort to whatever odd flowers and flowery metaphors he could come up with on the march.Unfortunately, a hero's job is never quite done...





	Ever After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dancesonmoonlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancesonmoonlight/gifts).



Anomen stared despondently at the parchment in front of him, debating furiously. Its surface was riddled with enough inkblots and furious revisions to bring his former tutors to tears, and after scratching out his latest attempt, he’d found himself left with absolutely nothing for the fifth time that day. Stubbornly, he picked up his quill once more.

_There is something about you that could drive a man to madness-_

“Nah, too murdery. I’d scrap that one.”

“I-Imoen!” Quickly, he flipped over the incriminating parchment, smearing more ink over his fingers in his haste. “My apologies – I had no idea you had awoken-“

“Yeah, I tend to sneak up on people,” Imoen smirked, wiggling her fingers. “Sorry for reading your poetry, but you know how it is. I get bored without all my apprentices to boss around.” She raised her eyebrows at the mess on his desk. “Besides, you need _help_ , Anomen.”

“I know,” he moaned miserably. “I do not understand! I am _good_ at poetry! I used to help Cyrando with his verses while I was still a squire!”

“Wait, Cyrando?” Imoen frowned. “The ‘let-me-out-damned-insects’ guy?”

“No, not Garrick, the other one. The gnome who was actually good at poetry.”

“Oh.” Imoen looked less than convinced. “You know, maybe what you need is a change of scenery. This isn’t exactly the most exciting cabin. Or the biggest.”

“No matter how small and dingy it is, any place that has Wren in it is perfect for me,” Anomen said loyally.

“Awwww!” Imoen placed her hands over her heart, eyelids fluttering dramatically. “That’s so sweet! See, _that’s_ the sort of thing you should lead with!”

Anomen cleared his throat. “While I appreciate your advice, my lady,” he said diplomatically, “I do not think that pointing out the essential inadequacies of one’s accommodations is the most romantic statement to lead with.”

“See, that’s your problem!” Imoen pulled up a chair to face him, gesturing wildly to punctuate each word. “You’re overthinking this!”

“That is very kind of you to say, Imoen, but you saw how terrible those lines were. Clearly, I must think on this further.” He looked at her hopefully. “I don’t suppose there are any spells to help foster creativity?”

“You’re not getting it,” the archmage sighed. “Anomen, the two of you literally went to hell and back for each other, even if you were kind of a dick about it at first. She gave up _godhood_ for you-“

“I believe milady gave up godhood for all of her companions’ sakes-“

“Not. The. Point.” Anomen leaned back warily as she pointed her finger at his face, pink sparks flickering around her nails. “Wren is going to love what you’ve got planned, no matter *what* it is! So stop waffling around trying to find the perfect poem and just take her out somewhere!”

Anomen sighed, scratching his beard nervously. “There is wisdom in your words, Lady Imoen. I suppose that I – well, I never had the chance to court her as a woman like her deserves. I want this to finally be _perfect._ ”

“Okay, okay, fine, don’t look at me like that,” Imoen muttered. “Anyways, that’s easy. What does Wren like?”

“Freshly picked flowers,” he said promptly. “Handicrafts and jewellery. The woods. The people of Umar Hills.”

“There, see, you got it already!” Imoen beamed. “Uh, except for that last one. I wouldn’t really bring other people along on your ‘perfect first date’ if I were you.”

Anomen brightened, straightening up. “You speak truly, Lady Imoen. You are very wise.”

“Well, yeah,” Imoen preened smugly. “I _am_ a ridiculously talented and beautiful archmagus, after all.”

“Your lack of modesty ill behooves you, my lady. Now you sound like that wizard we briefly traveled with. What was his name? Ah, yes. Edwin.”

“WHAT?!” Imoen shot out of her seat, scowling. “You take that back, Anomen Delryn! I’ll have you know that my Bigby’s Grasping Hand performs the most exquisitely agonizing tickle torture you’ll ever experience in your life! Elek! Otensky! Wonka-“

But Anomen had already made a prudent escape.

***

Wren hopped nimbly from rock to rock, balancing effortlessly on the wet stone. Her smile was wide and open as she turned towards Anomen, mist from the waterfall behind her dusting her cheeks. "I love this place!"

Anomen smiled back at her, drinking in the sight of the woman he loved in her true element. "I know."

"Do you remember?" Wren said, enthusiastically gesturing towards the stone formations on the opposite bank. "We fought off that mimic infestation there just last month! And there-" She pointed at a rocky outcropping, small and distant below them. "-we helped Madulf fight off that ogron attack! Oh, and got that killer mimic blood for Jermien." She frowned. "Come to think of it, why _are_ there so many mimics here?"

The conversation was rapidly derailing. "Perhaps the view is exceptionally beautiful here," he said smoothly. Wren gave him a knowing look, but played along.

"The view _is_ beautiful. But that's not why we're here, is it?"

"Not entirely, my lady." With his best flourish, he swept a patterned cloth from the Bag of Holding at his waist, laying it flat on the grass. Wren's eyes widened with surprise and delight as he began to pull the dishes he'd prepared from the Bag as well. Freshly foraged rhubarb salad, cheese and onion pie, a simple stew, and a collection of berries that had taken a good part of the day before to find.

"Anomen, were you holding out on us all this time?" Wren exclaimed, leaning forward. "This looks wonderful!"

"I regret that I did not have time to prepare proper meals for you while we were on the march, my lady." Anomen recalled his previous efforts at cooking with no small amount of regret. In his defense, knights of the Radiant Heart tended to not be very picky about the exact proportion of burnt bits swirling at the bottom of their soups. And no matter how amateurish his dishes had previously been while he was travelling with Wren and company, they had at least provided a much-needed break from Jan Jansen's meals. Was the gnome an excellent - nay, absolutely incredible - chef in his own right? Yes. But was it truly possible to survive on a diet comprised of ninety-nine percent turnip without going utterly mad? Regrettably, no. Jan Jansen himself was proof of that.

"Regardless," he hurried on, sweeping himself from his reverie, "I...I must admit that I did not do this alone, Wren. I had help from Vincenzo."

Wren's smile broadened at his admission. She leaned in to peck him on the cheek, settling gracefully down onto the picnic blanket. "I'm glad to see you're getting along with the people, Anomen. It does them good to know their protectors." She gestured towards the food. "Shall we eat?"

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Before we begin, there was one more thing I wanted to say." He pulled out the last item he'd been holding in reserve - a bouquet of flowers, shining in Wren's favorite colors and mimicking the hues of the bracelet adorning her wrist. "I was unable to find a crimson rhodelia this time, yet I believe there is no need for such a thing. For I already have the rarest treasure of all - your love."

Wren squeezed his hand gently. "I feel the same way about you, Anomen."

"I know." His voice caught for a moment. "I wanted you to know how I feel. That my only regret is not being able to do this earlier. And, uh." Despite the fact that they'd known each other for so long, he couldn't help but feel nervous. Perhaps the flowers weren't enough - or perhaps he'd forgotten to add salt to the stew; logically he _knew_ he had but-

"This is amazing, Anomen. No - it's perfect, actually." Her eyes sparkled as she tried a bit of the salad. "And the food you've made is wonderful! Thank you so much for doing this, Anomen!"

He sighed with relief. Wren would never have dissembled about liking something if she truly didn't feel that way. She was kind, yes, but she was also straightforward. Honest. Open. It was one of the things he loved most about her. And, with that thought, the familiar banter they fell into over dinner made it feel better than any banquet he'd ever attended in the fenced-in estates of his childhood, sterile and calculated and cold.

"That reminds me!" Wren said as they finished the last of the berries. "I have something for you, too!"

"You do?" Had Imoen told her about the date? "My lady, you do not have to-"

"No, no, it's actually _for_ you." Wren drew a letter from her belt pouch, and he frowned at the familiar stiffness of the parchment and elegant, curling calligraphy. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the seal.

"Wren, this is-"

"An invitation to a party! I know!"

"I am afraid that is not what I mean, my lady." His brow furrowed even deeper as he scanned the unfailingly polite, deliberate phrasing and the angular signature at the bottom of the invitation card. "This invitation is from Lady Winthrop."

"She says in the invitation that she was an acquaintance of your mother's," Wren said quietly. "Was she insincere?"

"No, but Ehlana Winthrop is..." He searched for a diplomatic way to phrase the statement, but failed utterly. "A bitter old serpent of a woman. The way she has worded this invitation, it's-" How could he adequately explain the veiled insults hiding in the webs these spiders spun to someone such as Wren, who was made for sunlight and freedom and all the open spaces of the world?

Wren plucked the invitation from his fist, smoothing out the wrinkles his hand had made as it tightened. "Anomen, just tell me what's wrong with it."

"She's just inviting us so that she can show off," he said as gently as he could. He could tell that Wren had seemed excited about it, even though he couldn't imagine why. "She wants to show all of her friends that she's important enough to have a former demigoddess attend her party. But the invitation isn't phrased in the same way that one would expect to one's betters. She will try to showcase her superiority by putting you down just so she can raise her social status."

Wren frowned. "So she plans to be a poor host to us?"

"No," he said reluctantly. "To most people, everything she does will seem to be the height of decorum. But she will constantly plant subtle barbs in her words. Every conversation will be a minefield. Every tiny lapse of table manners a sordid piece of gossip-"

"So basically Ust Natha, version two?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. It really was a very apt comparison. "Essentially, yes. But with less murder."

Wren mulled over this for a moment. "You've attended many of these events before, Anomen. Did you not like them?"

"I did, my lady, but..." For a moment, he entertained the fancy of watching Wren sweep through the crowd as the nobles turned to gape in admiration; tall, elegant, and more _real_ than any of them would ever be, for all of their fancy jewels and servants. "I cannot bear the thought of Lady Winthrop insulting you!"

"Will any of your friends be there?"

"My friends?" He blinked. "I suppose - Sir Ryan Trawl's uncle married one of the Winthrop cousins, and several of the Order members will be in attendance - Sir Cadril, for one-"

"Then I would like to attend," Wren said calmly.

"You would?" Anomen tried to conceal his surprise. "I...was not aware that you were interested in such things, my lady."

She sighed. "Anomen, do you _like_ picnics in the outdoors?"

"I like this picnic very much, my lady. Because I am with you."

"Exactly!" Anomen winced at the stubborn look in her eyes, already knowing he'd probably lost the argument. "You've retired to the countryside with me for the past few months, Anomen. You've all but given up your estate and your friends at the Order of the Radiant Heart _and_ the city life you enjoyed. Now I want to experience the things you like with you, as well." She grinned. "Besides. There's going to be a ball! Doesn't that sound fun?"

"Immensely, yes," he admitted. "But - Lady Winthrop-"

"She wants to insult me?" The fire dancing in her eyes almost made him feel sorry for Lady Winthrop. Almost. "Let her try."

The challenge hung in the air for a long, breathless moment.

Finally, Anomen sighed, leaning forward and scanning the invitation once more. "We will need clothing for the event."

Wren's grin was gleeful. "Oh, we'll have some, all right."

***

"Anomen, son of _Cor_ and Moirala," Ehlana Winthrop purred. White hair coiffed so elaborately as to put women half her age to shame, a sparkle in her blue eyes and just the right amount of blush accentuating her sharp cheeks, the matriarch of the Winthrops looked positively angelic.

Anomen knew better, of course. She could probably send an entire flock of Fallen Devas running and screaming with just a few well-placed words.

"And you've brought the former Bhaalspawn with you, of course," she continued. "Wren, daughter of - well, I wouldn't want to be insensitive by _saying_ it-"

"Gorion." Lady Winthrop barely batted an eye as Wren extended a hand, clasping it between her ring-bedecked fingers in what appeared to be genuine warmth. "Daughter of Gorion."

"Of course, my dear," she murmured, apparent solicitude filling her voice. " _Gorion._ But of course." She tilted Wren's hand, eyeing her jewelry critically. "And what exactly are you wearing tonight?"

"I'm afraid it's exclusive," Wren said, extricating her hand. "One-of-a-kind, really."

While Lady Winthrop processed this statement, Anomen mumbled a quick excuse, whisking Wren out of her sight. "My apologies, Lady Winthrop. I think I see Sir Ryan Trawl. Lovely party."

"That went well," Wren murmured as he did his best to put some distance between the two women.

"So far, yes. You were excellent, my lady." Despite his words, Anomen's back prickled with unease. They may have deflected her opening salvo, but Ehlana could not be underestimated as a tactician. If they had won one skirmish, it only meant that a pitched battle lay in wait. _Perhaps the prospect of the Order's displeasure will manage to temper her,_ he thought as Sir Ryan clapped him firmly on the back. He could almost manage to convince himself of it.

"Sir Anomen! Ranger-Protector Wren! What a pleasure it is to see you!" His former mentor beamed at them. "The two of you look radiant together!"

Anomen dutifully laughed along with him while shooting a glare at one of the younger knights in the circle, whose eyes had been roving over Wren's dress far more than was appropriate. He told himself that the satisfaction he felt as the insolent pup wilted was entirely reasonable. After all, lessons in manners were essential to a knight's education.

"-I'm sorry, a _what?_ " Anomen snapped back to reality. He knew that look. Wren's raised eyebrows portended doom.

"The charity ball," Sir Ryan repeated with a slight frown. "For the poor people of Umar Hills?" His brows drew down even further as his features grayed with realization. "Ravaged by the horrors of war...and...unfortunate circumstance?"

"Oh, those poor peasants!" A passing noblewoman took the opportunity to latch on to Sir Ryan's arm, completely ignoring the look of horror on his face as he futilely attempted to shuffle away. "Ehlana said they live in _shacks_ in the wilderness! In little log cabins! Can you imagine?"

"Plenty of people live in cabins," Anomen snapped. "If you are not given over to mad fits of indulgence, they are perfectly serviceable-"

"Plenty?" the woman screeched, voice rising to a near-shriek. "Oh, the horror! Th-those poor people!" Anomen, Sir Ryan, and five assorted knights gaped at her as she burst into increasingly histrionic tears. "I can't bear it! How can they live like that? It's so _sad!_ "

Sir Ryan appeared torn between the demands of chivalry and the bounds of exasperation. He settled for gingerly patting her on the arm. "There, there." She wailed even louder.

"Is this what Lady Winthrop's parties are normally like?" Wren asked, clearly bewildered.

"Worse," all seven knights said in unison.

"Now, Lana, cease this display at once. We must maintain decorum." The noblewoman's seemingly endless spring of tears dried up instantly at the sharp voice behind her. Anomen watched, frozen, as Ehlana Winthrop glided forward, all pretense of fragility discarded, ready to pounce on her trapped prey. A thin, humorless smile danced upon her lips as she turned towards Wren. "I do hope you don't mind being the focus for this charity event, Ranger-daughter of Gorion. I am certain we can all agree that the Umar Hills would benefit greatly from any aid we could give."

Anomen moved instinctively to step forward, but stopped in place as Wren's hand rested lightly on his arm. "I agree," she said calmly.

"Really?" Ehlana's triumphant smile widened, basking in the rapt attention of the crowd.

"My lady-" Anomen tried to interject.

"More money is always useful," Wren continued bluntly. "We could use these contributions to rebuild the temple of Amaunator, for instance."

"Amaunator?" Ehlana's lips twisted with just the right amount of distaste. "I have never heard of him. Is he an _elven_ god, dear?"

"Amaunator-was-a-sun-god-of-the-ancient-Netherese!" Anomen bellowed, as quickly as he could. He could _feel_ the eyes of the crowd instantly turn to focus on him. 

Lady Winthrop frowned. "Anomen Delryn, what are you-?"

"He was a lawful god who presided over the domains of life and light!" Now that he'd opened his mouth, he couldn't stop. Sometimes the best way to combat an avalanche was with another natural disaster. "His worshippers were predominantly human and were technically contracted to serve him until the end of time or until release by the god's avatar!" He was very quickly running out of things to say. "His triumphant return was meant to be heralded by the priestess-child Amauna, but she was slain by shades and had her bones devoured by wolves!" He winced as the distinct _thud_ of several fainting bodies hitting the floor rang in his ears.

"That is quite enough, Anomen." Ehlana's shoulders sagged for a moment. To his shock, she actually sighed, shaking her head. Leaning forward, she brushed the back of her wrinkled hand against his cheek for a moment. "Moirala was a friend of mine, long ago. I just wanted to make sure that you made the _right_ choice, Anomen. A suitable choice."

"Wren is the most suitable choice in all of Faerun, Lady Winthrop," he said steadily. Wren's hand found his, squeezing gently.

Ehlana Winthrop stared at him for a few moments longer, her gaze rapidly reverting to its regular icy disdain. "In that case, I have nothing more to say to you, boy." Turning on her heel, she strode away, the circle rapidly parting to let her pass. With a snap of her fingers, the musicians jumped into a hesitant sonata, switching rapidly to an upbeat waltz when she turned to fix them with a steely look.

"Well. That was awful." Anomen winced as he turned to meet Wren's wry smile.

"My lady, I am so, so sorry-"

"Do you want to dance?" He blinked, staring at her outstretched hand. With a sudden flood of relief, he realized that he'd worried for nothing. Why would Wren care for the good opinion of a woman she had never met and likely would never meet again? What really mattered - the only thing that mattered - was that he was finally going to be able to dance with Wren, for the first time in their lives.

"It would be my honor, my lady," he said gravely, with his best courtly bow. Her laugh as he swept her into his arms was purer than the song of Lathander's church bells, lighting up the morning of the faithful. And those in love.

He kept the dance steps simple, delighting in how nimbly Wren followed his movements. He stumbled slightly as Wren planted a quick kiss on his jawline as he brought her up from a dip, flashing him an innocent smile.

"I've changed my mind about this party," Wren said, grinning as he regained his balance, spinning her outward and back towards him. "This was definitely worth it."

"I agree, my lady, but-" He buried his face in her hair. "Perhaps our next dance will be at home? One moment like this, with you, is better than a thousand stuffy palaces."

Wren's eyes filled with fondness as she looked up at him. "Anomen-"

The sharp crack of shattering glass filled the air, soon punctuated by high-pitched screams as the assembled nobility fled from the vicinity of the buffet tables. A tall, masked figure casually reached out, knocking the decorative candelabras over and setting the expensive silk aflame. With a curse, their compatriot - short, squat, and unable to completely hide his long beard - jumped off the table, shattering several porcelain dishes as he went. "Oi," the dwarf shouted, muffled slightly by the fabric. "Watch what yer doin'-"

With a yelp, he stiffened and fell over as a Bolt of Lightning from Wren's concealed hand crossbow pinned his shoulder. His comrade swore and half-turned as if to flee, but Anomen brandished his holy symbol and locked their limbs in place with a Hold spell. 

"Now this is getting interesting," Wren said with a grin, advancing on the two miscreants. "Doesn't Lady Winthrop have guards?"

"She should," Anomen said with a frown. Reaching the figure on the right, he plucked the mask off their face, revealing an ordinary-looking half-elf with dirt smudged on her face and an angry scowl. He relaxed his Hold spell slightly. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

"We ain't sayin' nothin'!"

"Hello," Wren said, looming over her shoulder. "I'm a Bhaalspawn ex-demigoddess who's killed absolutely _unbelievable_ amounts of people. Who are you?"

The woman's face went white. "You-you're..." She rolled her head back, staring between Wren and Anomen, panic growing in her eyes. "I-I don't know nothin'! I was just paid to crash this fancy party and mess up the buffet!"

"Paid by whom?"

"I don't know! I swear!"

"Guards!" Ehlana Winthrop snapped as a delayed troop of eight men and women rushed towards the miscreants. "Take them away and question them!"

"I don't think they know anything useful-" Wren began, but shrugged and stepped back as the guards descended on them, dragging the pair away from the party. Lady Winthrop ignored her completely, already directing a passel of servants to remove the tables and bring the spare food from the kitchens.

"Would you like to stay for what is left of the food, my lady?"

"No, I'm with you. Home is much better," Wren sighed. Linking her arm in his, she strolled towards the door, unable to shake a small frown. "Anomen...what _was_ that?"

"I do not know, my lady," he admitted. "It was...highly unusual."

"I don't know either." Wren tapped her lips with one long finger, a slow smile beginning to form. "But I think I'd be very interested in finding out. Wouldn't you?"

He was most certainly not. But when Wren looked at him with her eyes dancing in just that way, Helm help him, he knew he would never say no even if he'd wanted to.

***

"I haven't been able to find them," Imoen said, scowling. "I mean, if I had a bit of their hair or their blood or something like that, it'd be a different story. I even asked Arkanis-"

"Arkanis?" Anomen shot upright, alarmed. "Arkanis _Gath?_ The Shadow Thief?"

"What can I say?" Imoen shrugged. "He's got a real thing for gorgeous pink-haired archmages who embody mass destruction."

"He is an assassin, Lady Imoen! A killer! He's dangerous!"

Imoen folded her arms, pointedly looking at the wall. After a moment, Anomen sighed, looking away from the giant dragon-skull coatrack mounted in the atrium of Imoen's mage tower. "Fine. Point taken."

"I trust Imoen to handle herself, although I do hope you have contingencies planned if he betrays you," Wren said.

"Chain Contingencies. Multiple." Imoen waggled her fingers with a devilish grin. "If all else fails, he'll make a nice statue."

Anomen cleared his throat. "So the two people who disturbed Lady Winthrop's party were not Shadow Thieves?"

"They weren't even properly registered mooks," Imoen said, flopping dramatically onto her divan. "Arkanis knows pretty much all the good mooks in Athkala." Anomen refrained from pointing out that this was most certainly not a good thing.

"Have there been any other incidents like this?" Wren asked thoughtfully.

"None that he knows of, although I heard that a couple of the minor houses have reported strange accidents at their estates recently. A stray fire, one case of food poisoning." Imoen shrugged. "Nothing major like what happened at that fancy noblewoman's party. Could be related. Could be not related."

Wren nodded decisively. "Very well. In that case, we will have to set a trap for them. Flush them out."

"I can try and find out if anything was common between the three parties," Imoen offered. "Arkanis isn't the only one with friends in low places, you know."

Anomen did his best to pretend that he hadn't heard that. "The Delryn estate may be available if we need a staging ground. Although," he said reluctantly, "we will need to convince my father. Perhaps Sir Keldorn-"

"Um, hello?" They turned to look at Imoen, who was wiggling her fingers again. "Archmage. Right here."

"I would prefer that spells of Domination not be used on my father-in-law, sister," Wren said gently.

Imoen sighed. "No, no, no. Three little words, guys." At the blank looks on both Wren and Anomen's faces, her features split into a gleeful grin, the gyrations of her fingers intensifying. "Mordenkainen's. Magnificent. Mansion."

***

"This is...certainly...something." From the pinched expression on Lady Winthrop's face, it was clear that she had been unable to find anything to complain about. After all, how could she? The spell-mansion was immaculate in its perfection, walls shimmering with a gleam reminiscent of elven citadels and mother-of-pearl. The furniture was lavish enough for the average palace, the temperature hovered at that precise boundary between pleasant coolness and comforting warmth, and the tantalizing aromas of the nine-course banquet laid out in the dining hall had been enough to set off an immediate flurry of delighted twittering from the assembled guests. 

"Oh, d'you like it?" Imoen said brightly, sidling up to Lady Winthrop and Anomen. She delicately plucked a canape from a passing spectral servant, indicating their surroundings with a flourish. "It's just a little something I whipped up. You know, short notice and all."

"Indeed." Ehlana's expression was schooled to stillness, but her lips pressed together in a thin line.

"Yeah," Imoen continued. "You know, I keep telling Wren she should buy a country or something. Maybe just the Tethyr Forest. Do you suppose she could charge those snobs in Suldanessellar rent?" She peered at Ehlana's face with no small amount of satisfaction. "And then maybe she could build a decent palace on the land with all her money. You know, because she's _rich._ So, _so_ rich."

"That's very nice, my dear-" Ehlana began, but Imoen wasn't done.

"I mean, I keep telling her that temple in the Umar Hills would just look so much cooler if she mounted Thaxll'ssilliya's head right over the entrance. Maybe the skeleton wings, too. Oh, sorry - I keep forgetting you don't know. Thaxll'ssilliya was a Shadow Dragon we killed there - one of about five or six we killed overall - anyways, then Wren and I could have matching skull decorations, but she said she thought it would be _tacky!_ Do you think it's tacky, Lady Winthrop?"

Ehlana looked slightly dazed. "I-ah..."

Imoen poked Anomen in the side. "Hey, Anomen, do you remember that time we imprisoned Demogorgon on the material plane for another hundred years? Was that just last Tuesday? Wow, time really flies when you're doing heroic deeds of legend, doesn't it?"

"Please excuse us for a moment," Anomen said, giving the increasingly sheet-white Lady Winthrop a cursory bow as he led Imoen to the side. "Lady Imoen, what are you doing?" he hissed.

"I heard she invited my sister to a fancy party just to insult her," Imoen said, scowling viciously. "Well, two can play at that game."

Anomen sighed. "I appreciate your efforts, Lady Imoen, but Wren handled herself well, and I believe she has already put the incident behind her-"

"Yeah, that's because Wren is _mature,_ Imoen said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not, so Lady Winthrop can take her attitude and shove it right up-"

"Oh, look!" he said hastily. "I believe the first course is about to be served!"

"Fine, have it your way." Imoen folded her arms, pouting slightly. "I guess I can take my frustrations out on the Party Crashers. If they show up, that is."

"They will," Anomen said confidently, even if he wasn't that sure in reality. Between him and Imoen, they had determined that the three noble houses who had thrown the disrupted parties really did have nothing in common. However, there was one common element shared between all three parties - in each case, the noble families had bragged about the extravagant feasts they had planned to serve. Could the villains belong to a rival catering company? Another noble house, determined to embarrass others? It was certainly a step down from the vast, world-threatening problems that they had tackled over the previous years, but truth be told, both he and Wren loved a good adventure. And he'd learned well from her about how even the pettiest of possible setups could lead to a grand discovery.

"I've ensured that some invitations were made available to...other parties," Imoen whispered cryptically as the guests began moving towards the dining hall. "If anyone is going to make their move, it'll be-"

Thick plumes of gray smoke billowed forth from the dining area, and cries of alarm began to spread. Imoen grinned. "Now."

She clapped her hands together, and the portal into the mansion closed. Within mere moments, a Planetar and Deva emerged from shining celestial gateways, floating inexorably forward as the crowds parted before them. However, they soon stopped abruptly as the clearing smoke revealed the culprits.

"I stunned two of them," Wren said, hopping down from her place of concealment and slinging the Shortbow of Gesen over her back. "But the third...?" She shook her head in bewilderment, then gasped as a short figure emerged from the dining room, striding purposefully towards the culprits writhing on the floor. "Is that-"

Ignoring the two firecracker-wielding minor noblemen frozen in place on the right, the gnome grabbed the enormously ruffled dress of the tall, veiled noblewoman who had collapsed on the right in both of his small hands. To the horrified gasps of the crowd, he ripped the thick fabric apart, revealing that the "woman" was actually comprised of two male gnomes, one standing on top of the other, and a rather large amount of stuffing. "Oh, I've got you now, Vaelag," he growled venomously, tossing the remains of a skull-tipped bolt aside.

"Jan?" Wren said disbelievingly, stepping forward. The gnome looked up from the bodies of his stunned prey, waving cheerfully at the three heroes.

"Oh, hello, Wren! And assorted old pals," he said, beaming. "I know you're all dying to hear about that monkey smuggling business, but just hold on a tic! Won't take a moment." His hands darted in the practiced movements of a Horror spell, and he leaned in menacingly towards the paralyzed gnomes. "Have you ever heard the tale of what my pyromaniac Uncle, Lotho the Loathsome, could do with just one hot cauldron and a sack of rotting turnips?"

"Please, no!" one of the gnomes shrieked as a smattering of dust freed his lips to speak. "I-I'll tell you everything! It was Vaelag! He-he was trying to stop these foreign importers from muscling in on his business!"

"The mobile vegetable peddling business is not Vaelag's to govern!" Jan declared passionately. "Why, this reminds me of the time-"

"It most certainly is _not_ Vaelag's to govern." Anomen jumped as Arkanis Gath emerged from the shadows behind them, a knife spinning idly in his fingers. "All of the licenses were in order. It seems as if one of our guild members has...overstepped himself."

"Is that right?" Jan stroked his beard, deep in thought. "So, if something unfortunate...such as, say, a gang of knife-wielding simians with a taste for Shadow Thief flesh...were to happen to him, the guild would not take offense?"

"None whatsoever," Arkanis assured him with a deeply unpleasant smile.

"Wonderful!" Jan clasped his hands together as he opened a Dimension Door. "Well, I've got places to go. Monkeys to equip. Toodles, dear friends!"

"Hey, hang on-" Anomen began.

"Nice seeing you, Jan!" Imoen yelled, waving enthusiastically as the gnome disappeared from sight. 

Wren just stood there, shoulders shaking, before collapsing in helpless laughter against Anomen's side. Sinking to the ground, he couldn't help but join her.

"All right, everyone!" Imoen said cheerfully. "Dinner is served!" At the mass exodus towards the mansion's portal, she sighed. "Nobody has any adventurous spirit any more."

A pair of elegantly slippered feet stopped in front of Anomen's face, and he looked up to meet Lady Winthrop's stern gaze. She sniffed once, then said, with all the reluctance of Korgan Bloodaxe agreeing not to kill something: "Your choice is suitable." While Anomen was busy gaping at her, she turned on her heel and swept out of the manor, dignity apparently regained.

"'Suitable?'" Imoen said indignantly. "What in the Nine Hells is that supposed to mean?"

"I think it was a compliment," Wren said, shrugging.

"It had better have been," Imoen mumbled with a glare.

"What does it matter?" Wren wound her fingers through Anomen's. "It is not as if we needed her approval, anyways."

"We most certainly did not," Anomen agreed, smiling.

Arkanis cleared his throat as he stalked towards the incapacitated thugs, forgotten in the foyer. "Do not worry, Imoen! I will clean up this mess."

"What?" Anomen scrambled to his feet.

"Aww, I like a man who cleans," Imoen purred.

"He means that he is going to kill them!"

"So?" Arkanis said, affected boredom dripping from his voice.

"Relax, both of you," Imoen drawled, gesturing to her Planetar. "They'll be dropped off at the guard station. If they're Shadow Thieves in good standing, you should be able to bribe them out pretty easily, Arkanis." The assassin nodded reluctantly.

Anomen groaned, burying his head in his hands and whispering a prayer to Helm as Wren shook her head indulgently. "The things we do for love, hmm, Anomen?"

He turned his attention back towards the woman he loved, proffering his arm to help her to her feet. "Many things, my lady," he said in wholehearted agreement.

***

When the work was complete, they dedicated the temple to Helm. Anomen blinked rapidly as the cloth was whisked away from the graven images of the Watcher flanking the entryway to loud cheers from the people of the Umar Hills.

He felt Wren's hand come to rest on his back. "The people appreciate what Helm has given them," she said softly. "They wanted to show gratitude to their new protector."

"I..." He was lost for words, unable to shake the warm tightness in his chest. "I thought...that they would restore Amaunator's shrine."

"Amaunator has been gone for a long time, Anomen." Wren smiled at him. "Besides, I don't think he's the sort of god who would mind. Do you?"

He shook his head, still unable to speak. "What about you?" he blurted out. "Did you not have a patron god to whom you wished to dedicate the temple, my lady?" He dredged up the name from his memory. "To Rillifane, perhaps?"

Wren didn't answer for a long moment, resting her head on his shoulder. When she spoke, there was no trace of rancor in her voice, even though it sounded somewhat wistful. "The Seldarine never had much time for the affairs of humans, my love," she said. "I did not feel Rillifane speak to me in Suldanessellar. Nor was she there at the end, when we needed her most. But the Watcher - now _he's_ always done right by us, as far as I'm concerned." She grinned. "Besides, it'd be best to pick an afterlife we can both get into when we really do retire, don't you think?"

For the third time, his eloquence was dashed from him in the storm of emotion that followed. Wordlessly, he put his arms around her, leaning into her embrace.

"I know that you will make Helm proud with what you do here, Anomen," Wren said.

He would. He would make sure that the people of Umar Hills were always protected; always served by justice beneath Helm's banner. He would also make sure that all of Wren's words would come true. Every last one.

That day, he began the forging.

***

Wren moved curiously through the forest, occasionally referencing the landmarks around her with the parchment in her hand. This scavenger hunt was very unlike Anomen. It reminded her somewhat of the games that she and Imoen had used to play in Candlekeep. Some of her sister's hidden-object-searches had been rather entertaining. She still remembered fondly the day Imoen had learned her first levitation spell - she'd had to shoot down the enchanted paper bird Imoen had used to levitate one of their favorite toys in order to recover it, dodging an obstacle course of alarmed monks all the way.

She would have agreed to do the scavenger hunt no matter what, but Anomen had been so oddly nervous that he'd spent two whole minutes attempting to justify why it would be fun before realizing that she had already said yes. The relief on his face when she'd accepted the first clue - an orienteering map - was fairly adorable, although she'd spared his pride by refraining from pointing it out.

If nothing else, this brought back nostalgic memories. She stopped dead as she reached the site the map pointed to, immediately spotting the giant skeleton warrior attempting to lurk inconspicuously behind a fir tree. _Well, maybe some things are different,_ she thought wryly, accepting another piece of parchment from the skeleton's outstretched hand. 

"Silver, yet more precious than gold?" she mused out loud. "Yes, of course! The mithral that Lord Tombelthen was looking for!" She switched directions, covering large swathes of ground in her steady lope through the forest. Now she really was curious as to what awaited her at the end of this scavenger hunt.

Three more skeleton warriors in various degrees of concealment, one somewhat peeved-looking celestial, and many fond memories later, she found Anomen at the site of the waterfall where they'd gone on their official "first date". Her breath caught as she noticed the way he'd used his clerical abilities to shape the falling water behind him into the rough outline of a flower. _Is this-_

Her suspicions were confirmed as he lowered himself to one knee, extending his hands in front of him. "My lady Wren," he began, his voice hoarse. "From the moment I first saw you, I have loved you. I was an arrogant, brash young man when we met, but through your patience, your zest for life, and your encouragement to be better than I am, I have become an older and wiser man. Everything that I am today, you have made me so. I ask whether you would do me the honor of agreeing to be joined for the rest of our lives-"

"Yes," she said immediately, smiling as the tension melted from Anomen's body. "Yes, of course. Was it ever in doubt?"

"I...well, no, but yes..." Anomen stammered before brightening, brimming with enthusiasm. "This is for you, my lady." Wren inspected the ring delightedly as he slid it onto her finger. The gold band was simple, but the tiny flower set into it in rubies and beljurils was painstakingly detailed. Anomen's eyes were anxious as he waited for her reaction. "Cromwell crafted the stones and the protective enchantment, but I forged the band. If it is flawed or inelaborate, I can have it remade-"

She launched herself at him, squeezing him tightly. "You _made_ it, Anomen. This is perfect!" She didn't relent until he at last fully relaxed.

"I love you, Wren."

"And I you, my knight," she said, stepping back and drawing him in for a kiss.

"So, ah," Anomen said several minutes later. "We should probably send out invitations. Who are we inviting, my love?"

"Everyone," Wren said firmly.

"Everyone?"

"Everyone."

Anomen nodded determinedly. "Very well, my lady. Everyone."

***

Anomen peered out over the faces of the crowd. The Umar Hills temple of Helm had provided the perfect venue for their wedding, considering that it was one of the few buildings large enough to contain the vast crowd of guests they had invited. Jaheira had travelled from her druid grove, ensuring that the growth around the temple blossomed with wildflowers and beautifully twisting vines. Minsc and Boo, dressed in identical Calishite finery, were animatedly discussing the finer points of butt-kicking for goodness with what appeared to be half of Athkala's Order of the Radiant Heart, while the other half were clustered admiringly around Sir Keldorn and his protege, the honorary Sir Mazzy. In a far corner, Aerie nodded along politely as Jan - freshly acquitted of the suspicious death of the Shadow Thief Vaelag - and her uncle Quayle told increasingly outrageous stories. Their acquaintances, of course, had shown up in full force as well - the entire Umar Hills was in attendance, of course. Ribald Barterman looked to have brought an entire suit of armor as a gift, while Cromwell, Lord Logan Coprith, the Windspears - and, to his horror, Arkanis Gath - waved enthusiastically as his gaze passed over them.

"Cespenar wishes the great ones congratulations!" a voice chirped from somewhere near his kneecaps. Anomen's eyes widened as he stared at the imp, who had adorned himself with a short sash and wilted flowers tied to the edges of his wings. "Cespenar made his famous demon heart cookies to celebrate!"

"Demon...hearts?" Anomen looked faintly at the pulsating red-and-black lumps on the platter the imp was proferring, lines of char streaked artistically across their surfaces. "May I ask where you got these demon hearts from?"

"From the great one's bag of holding! They were just lying around in there!" Cespenar chirped.

Anomen would have to talk to Wren about clearing out their old bags. He gave Cespenar his best smile, not wishing to dampen the creature's enthusiasm. "Thank you, Cespenar. That is _very_ kind of you. Perhaps you could place them on the gift table?"

"Okies!" the imp said, happily bouncing off. Anomen continued to idly scan the crowd, freezing as he noticed his father seated stiffly in one of the chairs, a wide space around him. His jaw was rigidly clenched, and his back was so ramrod-straight as to suggest the work of a Wand of Paralysis, but he was _there._ Silent, and not making a scene.

Perhaps there was hope for them after all.

He spotted Elminster moving steadily towards the dais at the front and hurried to join him.

"Ah, Anomen, my boy!" the old Harper said jovially. "Congratulations!"

"Thank you, Elminster," he said, bowing, but the wizard waved him off.

"Now, now, no need for that! You're in luck, lad. Gorion's ward is absolutely stunning," he said with a wink.

Anomen did his best to ignore the nervous flutters of anticipation in his stomach. "I know," he settled for saying.

"Oh, hey, fellow archmage! And most sage and wise Chosen," Imoen added as Elminster raised an eyebrow at her. Anomen choked in horror at the sight of the snack in her hand.

"Lady Imoen! You-you ate...do you know what those are?"

"Yeah, Cespenar made them," Imoen said, chewing determinedly at a piece of the demon heart cookie. "He's so cute! And they're not that bad, y'know. He was so happy when I took one."

"Imoen, they're made of _demon hearts!_ " he hissed. "Year-old demon hearts!"

Imoen considered this for a moment, then shrugged, taking another bite with an audible _crunch._ "Oh well. It's a good thing this Periapt of Proof Against Poison matches with my dress, huh?" She laughed at his poleaxed expression, reaching out to briefly ruffle his hair. "Don't worry, brother. You'll be fine."

Anomen wished that Moira could have seen this - _all_ of this. Imoen was vastly different from her, true. But at the same time, he realized that she was also a sister to him, as well.

"Thank you for everything, Lady Imoen," he said sincerely.

"Hey, no problem! That's what I'm here for." Imoen beamed at him before looking over his shoulder, eyes widening. "Ooh, it's Arkanis! _He-_ llo." She shot the assassin a smoldering look before sauntering off in his direction, leaving both Elminster and Anomen briefly stunned in her wake. Evidently, she had that little-sister knack for giving their siblings heart attacks as well.

"It's almost time, lad," Elminster said gravely, and Anomen hastened towards the dais as Elminster raised his arms, casting a brief spell of Silence over the assembled guests. Obediently, they took their seats, murmuring in voiceless excitement until Elminster lifted the enchantment.

And then Anomen ceased to notice anything at all, except Wren herself, resplendent in a white lace gown of elven style, long sleeves and train imbued with an ethereal glow and slender waist emphasized with a simple filigree belt. Her hair was down for once, framing her angular features in an elegant wave held back by a braided coronet. Elminster cleared his throat gruffly as she walked up the center aisle, taking Anomen's hands in hers.

"On this day, we are gathered-" Elminster began. 

Anomen leaned in towards Wren. "You are beautiful, my lady," he whispered.

"You look amazing, too," she said with a grin. "But you can call me just Wren, you know,"

There was so much that he wanted to say to her. But just as he opened his mouth to tell her, heedless of Elminster's speech-

"This is for Vaelag!" a voice yelled as a masked figure burst through the door, raising its arms-

"No," Elminster barked, and from one moment to the next, the miscreant vanished. He turned back to the couple. "As I was saying, before we were so rudely interrupted..."

"Where did you send him?" Anomen asked cautiously.

The wizard shrugged. "It wasn't me, lad." Anomen caught Imoen's eye in the crowd, winking exaggeratedly as she held up her Bag of Holding and mouthed the words 'Time Stop' with apparent excitement.

"Elminster...how many minutes of air are in a Bag of Holding?" he said weakly.

"Ten, why?" The wizard's eyebrows shot up as he noticed Imoen's gestures. "I see. Ten minutes. Moving right along, then, with your permission-"

"Yes, please," Wren said, shooting Imoen a conspiratorial wink in return.

Elminster cleared his throat again. "Do you, Anomen Delryn, son of Cor and Moirala, take Wren to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do," he said instantly.

"Do you, Wren, daughter of Gorion-"

"Yes," Wren said, then pulled Anomen into a deep kiss to raucous cheers from the crowd. As they reluctantly pulled apart, Elminster clapped a hand on both of their shoulders.

"Congratulations, young ones," he said, beaming. "Some would say your tale is done, but perhaps it is only now just beginning."

"There _is_ still plenty to do, after all." Wren ran her hand through her hair. "Helping Imoen with her prisoner, the afterparty, the thank-you notes, yet another interview with Volo..."

"What, again?" Anomen frowned as he caught sight of the bearded man in the second row, scribbling furiously in a voluminous book. "He can end that book right now, you know."

Volo looked up, exaggeratedly cupping a hand to his ear.

"They lived happily ever after," Anomen said simply.

And so they did.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for this work was "Fluff/romance...if you can find it in a romance novel you're probably good." I decided to focus on a more-or-less canon compliant story incorporating as many of those elements as I could - first-ish date, ballroom dancing, a disapproving maternal figure, a proposal/wedding, long-term relationship concerns in Faerun, and some fun family dynamics with Imoen. Of course, the canon epilogue mentions that Anomen and the Bhaalspawn's wedding kept being delayed by some exciting adventure or the other, and I thought I could provide a bit of a peek at just one of those many adventures in the process!
> 
> Here's hoping you enjoy your gift :)


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